Harry Potter and the Cliche of Death
by twistyguru
Summary: Pure Crack!Fic! A fanfic writer is dragged into a draft HP-verse by a rabid plot bunny. Hilarity ensues. Lots of bashing-Dumbles, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, especially. Implied M/M slash Harry/Draco . Inspired by Digitallace, blame her! read her, too
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Pure Crack!Fic! A fanfic writer is dragged into an HP fan-verse by a rabid plot bunny. Hilarity ensues. WARNING! M/M slash implied (Harry/Draco), bashing of just about everybody else. Canon? You've got to be kidding….

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, making no profit, please see end of fic for places I borrowed things from.

"There are times when the world is in flux and the right voice in the right place can move the world"—_Peter Wiggins (Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game)_

_**Note:** conversations with the film crew inside the author's head. May also represent personal letters. Or spells. Or, just random comments floating through the fic. Or, just emphasis. You'll figure it out.  
_

**Harry Potter and the Cliché of Death**

It was mealtime in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and all of the teachers and faculty were in their usual places, eating the piles of scrumptious food that the house elves had lovingly prepared for them.

Well by now, you've probably figured out the whole thing's a load of rubbish, haven't you? Scrumptious food...in _Scotland_? Lovingly prepared by house elves? Oh, please...if you're lucky, you'll get the bits without so much spit in them, not to mention the extra chunky brown bits in the gravy--best not to wonder too much about them, just like Chinese food in low cat population areas of the world, especially American strip-malls. And which meal time? As if it matters...stupid house elves probably make vats of the same things for each meal, and people just get in the habit of politely ignoring the runny eggs and soggy bacon in the evenings, just like they ignore the stringy beef and lumpy potatoes in the morning. Of course, it does help out on those odd days when you really want eggs, sausages and bacon for supper, I suppose.

Eh, the haggis is probably almost as old as the barmy old Headmaster...nobody ever touches it, and it always looks the same. Probably a stasis charm or some such rot….

So, let's try this one again.

It was breakfast time at Hogwarts, and most of the students were still dragging in, yawning. The ones that weren't were jostling each other at the ONE coffee station in the Great Hall--seriously bad planning, that--or drinking stale tea, thumping their biscuits on the table to drive out most of the weevils.

It was not commonly known by the students, but in 1874 Hogwarts purchased a large quantity of surplus rations from the Royal Navy at a rock-bottom price, and the house elves decided that humans must like their biscuits with the extra crunchy little bits. After all, the house elves liked them better that way, too. At any rate, calculating using the average rates of consumption for the past three years as a baseline, the last crates of the 1874 purchase should be exhausted sometime between 2017 and the end of the world. Give or take a decade or three.

It was a rather large purchase, of a rather large surplus quantity, and the price was really quite reasonable...at least, that's the story that was put out by the Governors.

Meanwhile, at the Head Table, the Headmaster was the only one who appeared even remotely happy to be there, his eyes twinkling, his tangerine and fuchsia gown nicely set off by the British Racing green cap on his head. The Assistant Headmistress sat to his left, primly proper as she sipped her tea (freshly conjured, not that swill the elves provided). Professors Sprout and Flitwick routinely brought their own breakfasts, sneaking them in under concealment charms, while Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds, actually seemed to enjoy the Hogwarts fare...especially the haggis.

He would.

Except for Snape, the other Professors...er, Sinestra...and Vector, yeah, that's a name from the books...and, er..._quick who's gonna be the DADA looser?...what do you mean you don't know...dammit, I thought you had all of that worked out by now...what's that? no name...okay, I can do that_...except for Snape, who (being a vampire, duh) drank his meals from a plastic bag, the other Professors rarely ate in the Great Hall, or even existed at all except as cardboard cut-outs which were occasionally placed around to make people think that there actually WAS a staff. Of course, the DADA professor wasn't present on this fine morning (actually, it was overcast and a fine mist was falling outside and, due to a sporadic malfunction with the enchanted roof of the Great Hall, or maybe just a wandering hole, over the lower half of the Ravenclaw table—oh well, it's only the lowbie Ravenclaws, screw 'em), because _somebody_ forget to make one up and it won't matter for this story, anyway.

At any rate, it was breakfast time, and the Golden Trio of Potter, Weasley and Granger were striding confidently into the Great Hall, eagerly looking forward to another fine day of education and adventure at the greatest school of wizardry in the known universe!

_*snicker* Yeah, as if...._

What was actually happening was that Hermione Granger, bookworm and naggy female without equal was dragging her lame-arse excuse for a boyfriend into the Great Hall, while Harry Potter slouched behind. Neither of the boys had bothered to do anything which could even be remotely considered 'grooming' that morning, relying (as usual) on Hermione's grooming charms for what little presentable-ness they had.

Harry, for his part, absolutely hated it, but he had learned early on (like, in his first year) that it didn't matter what he did, Hermione would find fault with it and cast the grooming charms anyway. So, firmly beaten down into a state which is often described by muggle psychologists as 'learned helplessness', he followed along, the natural magic in his hair easily winning the battle against Hermione's rather puny grooming charm.

The three had just seated themselves at their customary places (Hermione barely managing to snatch the haggis away from Ron, who had gone into feeding mode prematurely this morning) when the doors to the Great Hall opened once more, admitting Draco Malfoy and his entourage of Slytherins.

_Now, wait just one minute! How come the doors to the Great Hall never close, but always open dramatically when Draco comes in? And weren't they already here, and seated, when the Trio came in? Where's the scene coordinator? What? Not here yet? It's quarter of nine, woman, don't tell me she's not here yet! Eh? Oh? Taking a personal day? Well, what idiot approved that? Oh, I did? Well, er, okay, then. Never mind, keep rolling, er, writing._

The doors to the Great Hall swung back, banging against the wall and making the usual hideous racket. Of course, everyone flinched, even Draco, but he hid it well after years of practice.

Striding to their places (and only slipping a little bit as they skirted the puddles around the lower end of the Ravenclaw table) the senior Slytherins made their way to their seats, and sat.

Immediately, a flock of owls descended from somewhere in the general vicinity of the eaves of the roof, bearing copious moisture (which their flight shook over all and sundry) and the morning (soggy) mail. Oddly enough, on this particular morning both Harry and Draco received identical letters written on moist parchment in a particularly lurid shade of purple ink.

Harry was the first to open his letter, having snatched it out of a bowl of...something rather resembling porridge but otherwise best left undescribed...before Ron could think it was a piece of toast. Carefully unfolding it, he read:

_Dear Scarhead:_

_I'm still here, and my minions are closing in around you. I know enough of the prophecy to want you dead, dead, dead. Your demise is what I think of every night when I engage in self-abuse. Once you are dead, nothing will stand between me and global domination. I shall sweep to power first here in England, then across Europe, and from there to Iceland, where __Reykjavík shall be mine! Make your will, Potter!_

_Cordially,_

_Tommy_

_/////////_

Harry raised one eyebrow at the slashes underneath his name. Apparently, Tom had the idea that each one represented a 'curse' or 'hex' (just as 'Xs' and 'Os represented hugs and kisses), so seeing them was nothing new. However, it was a rare day indeed when he merited NINE of the bloody things…six was usually average. Something must be up, he mused, only to be rudely interrupted by Hermione's "here, Harry, let me see that!" His face expressionless, he quickly cast a wandless, wordless charm which turned the letter from his arch-nemesis into a bill for an extremely becoming pair of Bermuda shorts just as Hermione snatched it from his hand.

"Honestly, Harry! You need to pay this bill, at once! Otherwise, you'll just forget, and then you'll get another bill, which you'll also forget!" And on, and on, and on, in that nasal, whinging voice which no one else could quite managed but did achieve total annoyance in everyone within a twenty foot radius.

Across the Great Hall, Draco lifted his letter from off the muffins where it had been dropped by a particularly scruffy-looking owl, and opened it before Pansy Parkinson could snatch it out of his hand and read it for him.

_My Dearest Draco:_

_I continue to plan my inevitable triumph, and with you among my minions my victory is assured! There is a prophecy which states that I will destroy my nemesis, after which I will live forever happily with you, my soul mate. Your glorious visage is what I dream of every night as I engage in manual autoerotic stimulation. Once Potter is dead, nothing will stand between us. I have discovered a spell which will make your 1/256 Veela part dominant, rendering you a pure Veela male, able to bear my children as well as making you an irresistible sex-on-legs boy toy who will be mine forever. Be sure to dress warmly._

_Cordially,_

_Your Voldie-poo_

_XOXOXOXOX_

Draco shrugged, burning the letter to ash with a flick of his wrist. The Dark Lord had seen him once during a brief trip to Malfoy Manor, and had been instantly enamored of the blond boy. Only long years of practice allowed himself to control his features when he received such a letter, rather than give in to the urge to hurl in a manner which would be most undignified for a Malfoy.

As if, thought Draco, smiling an empty smile at the vapid look on Pansy's face. Maybe, he mused, he could use the Dark Lord's fascination with him to convince Voldemort to let him feed Pansy to a large beast of some sort. Since that seemed to be the only way to convince her that Draco (a) wasn't interested because (b) he was a flaming poofter, it might actually be more kind in the long run. Certainly it would be more interesting, and easier on the ears than listening to Pansy's nasal voice for the rest of his life.

Turning away from Pansy's sneeze (Draco had deftly managed to blow some of the ash from his letter into her face, where it had tickled her nose), Draco looked across the room just as Harry turned his head away from Hermione's irritating drone. Their eyes locked across the Great Hall, silver-gray and emerald flashing at each other as a covert look of simmering passion passed between the two secret not-quite-yet-lovers, causing their faces to flush and their pulses to race....

When the doors to the Great Hall exploded inwards, shattering into thousands of pieces!

_So, obviously, somebody had closed them again, right? Right? Now, where was I? Oh, yes...._

...shattering into thousands of pieces! Every head in the Hall snapped around just in time to see two large forms, locked in mortal combat, roll and tumble into the Great Hall. Spitting, cursing and snarling as they went, the pair thrashed to and fro, smashing tables, crushing several no-name nonentities—but they were all lowbies, and none of them had anything to do with any story, ever, so screw 'em—and sending platters of food flying everywhere!

Except, of course, for the Head Table, which (as we all know) is protected by a highly secret, nigh-unbreakable food shielding charm. Sodding Professors.

As the titanic struggle progressed, those surviving students managed to draw back against the walls, out of the area of destruction which now seemed to be concentrated in the center of the Hall, where the combatants continued to struggle with one another. Then, with a herculean effort, the darker of the two gave a huge shrug and flung his adversary across the room, revealing...a water buffalo-sized...rabbit?

Yes, it was indeed a rabbit...all white fur (now a bit soggy and matted), with burning pink eyes.

"Awwwww...." went about half of the girls (and a few boys) in the Hall at the sight of the massively cuddly thing.

Then, the bunny let loose a basso snarl, revealing six-inch long fangs and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth dripping with foetid saliva. Digging its long, bloody claws into the stone floor the stupendous Leporidae gathered itself to lunge on its adversary once again. However, before it could leap, the hooded figure raised one hand and called out "_Corpus Invertus!"_

With a horrible squeal, accompanied by a sound somewhere between a flop and a squish, as well as the rapid-fire cracks of bones breaking...the rabbit turned itself inside out!

Before the now-enraged, bleeding, pulsating mass could gather itself once more, the second figure took one step forward and intoned in a deep, rolling voice:

_"By the organ summoning of Thoth Amon,_

_Lepus spine to my hand come!"_

A nauseating series of pops and snaps followed as the creature's spine was ripped from its body, pelvis to skull, to sail across the Hall and into the outstretched hand of the conjurer. Unsupported by anything resembling an axial skeleton, the carcass of the huge rabbit slumped to the floor, twitching.

Complete silence settled over the Hall like a blanket...a very wet, smelly, soggy, blood-soaked blanket.

Suddenly, a low chuckle came from within the cowl of the figure in the center of the Hall as he casually tossed the dripping spine in the rabbit's general direction.

"Not so tough without a spine, now are you?" the voice came. Wiping the gore from his hands (for it was, indeed, a male voice) on his outer garment, the stranger reached up and pushed back his hood.

Short gray-brown hair on top of a round head showed first, followed by a plump face wearing gold-framed glasses. A two-day growth of grayish stubble wrapped around the face, not doing anything to hide the double chin. Looking around, bright blue-hazel eyes took in his surroundings carefully as a satisfied smile began to give way to a look of mild horror.

"Er...hello, sorry about the mess," the stranger said. "Damned plot bunny attacked me out of nowhere, and" he shrugged, "you know how that is." He said this last as though he expected it to completely explain the situation, and turned towards the ruins of the doors. "I'll just be going now, don't mind me...oh, and I'd burn that thing ASAP, or it might come back for some of you." Nodding towards the still-pulsating carcass, he began walking towards the entryway with only a minor limp, obviously intent on leaving.

"Hold, stranger!" Dumbledore's voice rang out. "Who are you, and how did you come to be here?"

The man stopped, sighed, half-turned and looked over his shoulder. "Look, I said I was sorry about the mess; just be sure to burn the rabbit, okay? I need to be going, and I really shouldn't stay any longer."

"But Hogwarts' wards..." Professor McGonagall burst out, only to be waved to silence by the stranger.

"Hogwarts' wards didn't slow us down in the slightest, Minerva; but we didn't disturb them, either. They'll be fine," he nodded, then turned once more.

"I'm afraid that we'll need to know more before we can allow you to depart," Dumbledore said, waving his wand and immediately repairing the doors to the Great Hall. Another, second wave dropped a large crossbar across them, effectively sealing everyone in the Great Hall. "Now, won't you please tell us who you are, and how you came to be here?" the Headmaster asked politely.

The figure gave a huge sigh, then turned, his hands on his hips. "You just won't take no for an answer, will you?" he asked. "Not even if I tell you that you really don't want to know?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore replied, smiling broadly. "Can we offer you some breakfast?"

"Why don't you clean up this mess while I get my own," the figure said, clearly resigned. As he went to the coffee station, Dumbledore and the other Professors set about putting the Great Hall to rights. "Coffee...must have coffee...."

As the figure approached the coffee station, those few students who were standing there scattered to the four winds. Grimacing, the figure looked down at his tattered raiment. "Oh, yuck, need to fix this," he said softly, then muttered a few words while making passes with his hands up and down his cloak. In seconds, the bloody tatters transformed themselves into a black t-shirt, sweat pants and sneakers. On the t-shirt was the legend: "**FOOLS! I Will Destroy You All! **_**Ask Me How!**_" After he fixed himself a coffee (medium roast, black) he turned and faced a now-rabbit carcass-free Great Hall. One of the students glanced at his shirt and began giggling, and he smiled back at the young man when he asked, "How?"

The man assumed a mock-fierce expression, with one hand raised above his head, index finger extended, his mouth a twisted grimace and one eyebrow noticeably higher than the other.

"Through SCIENCE! Muhwahahahahaha!" His maniacal laughter (evil laugh #4, good for initial declarations of malicious intent and also moments of impending triumph over the Forces of Good) echoed from the vaulted ceiling.

At that, the muggleborns nearby burst out into peals of laughter while the magically-raised just looked confused.

***

Not too terribly many minutes later, as these things are measured, the strange man was ensconced in a chair at the Head table, his coffee set carefully to one side as he looked askance at the food slowly coagulating on the platters there. Cocking his head to one side thoughtfully, he called out softly, "Yo! House Elf!! FRONT!"

Immediately there was a soft popping sound as three Hogwarts house elves materialized beside and behind a chair.

"How is we to be serving the Master?" one asked quickly.

Turning and smiling down at the trio of elves, the man asked, "Let me guess...none of you have ever been out of Scotland, have you?" When all three elves shook their heads, he just nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "Well, then, none of you would know a grit from a gorilla, would you?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on. "Okay, let's make this easy on you. I'd like three eggs scrambled with cheddar cheese, six strips of bacon extra-crispy, toast with butter, orange juice and a pot of coffee. A _large_ pot. Can do?" he finished.

All three elves grinned broadly, nodded, and popped away. His breakfast ordered, he turned back around in his chair, sipped his coffee and looked around carefully. For several long moments he pointedly ignored the fact that every eye in the Great Hall was fixed on him as he surveyed his surroundings; then he grinned, stared directly at a young girl at the Hufflepuff table and slowly, deliberately crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. After a few seconds, he rolled his tongue into a U-shaped tube and began waggling his eyebrows up and down.

The girl blushed furiously and whipped her head away as a ripple of giggles spread out across the Great Hall. Satisfied, the odd man held the ludicrous face for a few seconds before he let it lapse, winking at his victim as he did. Feeling the looks he was getting from the other Professors, he turned back and forth, looking at all of them.

"What? You people act like you've never seen a funny face before."

"I should say not, under these circumstances," McGonagall began, only to be cut off by a rude sound.

"Pffft! Come on, Minnie, lighten up! To borrow a phrase, Merlin knows this place could use a few laughs." Grinning, he reached out and gently poked the Transfiguration professor, who recoiled in shock and horror. "Don't worry...I'm not going to turn you all into newts or anything, at least until I get my breakfast. Just chill out, m'kay?"

The Headmaster chose this moment to cut in smoothly, forestalling an explosion by his Deputy Headmistress.

"Stranger, you still have yet to give us your name."

The stranger nodded, then sipped his coffee. "Nope, and not gonna, either." At the shocked looks from the professors, he snorted. "Oh, for the love of...come on, people, you're _wizards_...you ought to know that a true name gives you power over a thing! Now, if you behave yourselves, I'll give you a _nome de guerre_, maybe _de plume,_ but my real name? Go fish!"

Several of the professors sat back, shocked at the temerity of the stranger in speaking so bluntly to the venerable Headmaster, but that worthy himself merely smiled. "You are indeed correct, sir," he said, eyes twinkling merrily. "So, then...is it to be _de guerre_, or _de plume_? Or perhaps, you would prefer a title of some kind?" he asked slyly.

The stranger gave a small nod, acknowledging the Headmaster's attempt, then chuckled. "Nice try, Dumbles, I'll give you that. Tell you what...it's actually 'Doctor', but since I'm not in practice anymore, I won't be real anal about that if you won't, okay? But, since I really don't want to be spending the rest of the day answering to 'hey, you!' or 'hey, you, lardarse!'" and here he grinned hugely, "call me...Guru. Yeah, that'll do...Guru."

"Very well, er, Doctor Guru...."

"Just Doctor, or Guru...or Doc, if you're in a hurry."

"Just so. Well, then, Guru...could you tell us why you came to be here so abruptly, and how?" the Headmaster inquired.

"A better question would be what was that thing I killed in the middle of your dance floor just now," the Guru said nonchalantly. He looked as if he was going to say more, but just then a plate of eggs, bacon and toast—accompanied by a large glass of orange juice and a carafe of coffee—appeared in front of him.

"Thanks, guys!" he called to the air, before looking down at the plate and sniffing appreciatively. "Jubal Hershaw, eat your heart out," he muttered, before tucking in.

Momentarily taken aback by the man's answers, and also a bit reluctant to interrupt him as he tore into his eggs and bacon like a starving man, Dumbledore motioned Hagrid over to him with a wave.

"Hagrid, I banished the carcass of that...creature...to the fields not too far from your cottage. Be so good as to go take a look at it, and then burn it as he suggests."

"Aye, Perfessor," the half-giant rumbled, before striding out of the Hall.

That chore done, Albus leaned over to his right, and began speaking in a quiet voice with his Charms professor.

"Filius, have you ever heard of the second spell he used? The one that pulled out the beast's spine?"

The diminutive Charms Master shook his head. "No, Albus, never. And, I'm not familiar with the first spell he used, either. Just judging from the effects, I'd say that it must be terribly Dark, but there's little question that he used it in self-defense. And, possibly, in our defense, as well."

"I agree. He is a bit odd, but then again, we know nothing of him. He doesn't strike me as one of Tom's followers, now does he?"

Flitwick shook his head. "No, not at all." He paused, then chuckled. "I rather doubt that a Death Eater would have been making faces at a muggle-born girl, either. No, whatever he is, a follower of You-Know-Who he probably is not."

"Thank you, Filius. I didn't think so, but I wanted another's judgment, as well. So, then, what should we do with him?" Albus paused, giving a quick nod of his head to his left. "I doubt that Minerva would be very objective right now, were I to ask her for an assessment."

"Probably not," Flitwick agreed dryly. The stern woman's temper was well known, and the looks she was currently trying to kill the new arrival with were all too easy to read. "I'd tread carefully, Albus. He's obviously a powerful wizard, and conversant with magics that we have little or no knowledge of. Probably it'd be best to ask him what he wants, and if it's reasonable, grant his requests."

"My thoughts exactly, Filius. Again, thank you. Still, just to be safe, keep your wand handy, eh?" the Headmaster finished their conversation and leaned back in his chair.

By now, the Guru had finished demolishing his eggs and bacon and was sitting back nibbling toast and occasionally sipping his coffee. His eyes were still sweeping back and forth across the Great Hall, taking in the view before him, his face a neutral mask. Occasionally his eyes would linger on one person or another--Harry and Draco each garnered an extra second or two, as well as subtle winks that had each of them wondering--and even a dark glare or three. Hermione Granger made the mistake of trying to give him an ugly look, but after almost a minute of unblinking stare she broke first, turning away with a huff. The stranger's only reaction to this was a snort of what was probably amusement before he once again went back to scanning the Hall.

He was interrupted once again by the Headmaster.

"So, Guru...I believe that you mentioned that the beast which you so handily dispatched was a...plot bunny? Is that correct?"

"Yeah. Stupid Digitallace set the damned thing on me, what with her 'Shaun of the Dead' crapola, and I couldn't throw it off. Damn thing latched on to me and wouldn't let go, so it would up dragging me here. Of course, as soon as I realized where I was, I knew it had to be killed and burned post haste, or else it would have started spawning zombies left and right. So, I turned it inside out and ripped out its spine...and I hope that Hagrid has the sense to burn it like I said." Shaking his head, he took another sip of coffee. "Probably wouldn't be a bad idea to burn the head, body and spine in three different fires, now that I think about it...then scatter the ashes in three different places. Right off the top of my head, I'd use the North Atlantic, Loch Ness and your lake, here. Let the wretched thing deal with Nessie, the Squid and the icebergs, if it can. 'Course, if it manages to re-manifest after that, you'll have no choice but to put some of it in the Arctic, some in the Sahara, and some ten feet down in the Great Salt Flats." Another sip, and he went on matter-of-factly. "Don't think this one'll require the Salt Flats...you usually only have to do that for demons, devil-possessed items, stuff like that. The salt wards off demonic forces, don't ya know."

By this time the entire Hall was staring at him like he had gone stark raving mad.

Seemingly oblivious, he took another sip of his coffee before continuing. "Anyway, while I was wrestling with the plot bunny it dragged me here, but it's dead now so I can be on my merry way. I do thank you for breakfast and the coffee, though," he nodded, and began to stand.

"But, that doesn't begin to answer our questions," Dumbledore put in hurriedly. "Won't you stay, at least for a little while? Obviously, you are a most puissant wizard, and we could learn much from you."

Guru smiled at the Headmaster's phraseology. "You know, I never expected to be called 'puissant' _anything_ in my entire lifetime. But, I'm really not sure that I should stay…my magic, as you call it, might be a tad…disruptive to your world, and that might not be entirely to your liking."

"I'm sure that we can manage any disruptions which you might cause," the Headmaster said smugly. "After all, our staff are some of the finest witches and wizards in the world."

The stranger's eyebrow rose slightly at this, and his voice made it all too clear that he was not terribly impressed by the Headmaster's statement. "Oh really? Okay, I'll grant that McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout are first rate in their field, and Snape, too…although Severus couldn't teach his way out of a wet paper sack, if you ask me. As for you, Albus," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Nice wand you've got there. Looks like the kind of thing an _elder_ would use, doesn't it? Bet it's really _death_ on a _stick_ in a duel, isn't it?"

Albus Dumbledore blanched at the stranger's words, but hastily recovered. "Yes, I suppose you could say that…but Guru, you've just convinced me that I simply must have the chance to speak further with you before you depart from Hogwarts."

The Guru rolled his eyes, shook his head and sighed. "All right, you've talked me into it…but don't say I didn't warn you. Now…I suspect that it's getting close to time for the first class to start, so why don't all of you just go about your business and don't mind little old me."

"And just what do you think you're going to be doing?" McGonagall snapped, still quite angry.

The Guru grinned toothily. "Well, I thought I'd start out by having a little talk with Mr. Potter, just to get oriented. Then, who knows?

***

Harry Potter was not at all surprised when the odd man in the muggle attire came down from the staff table to talk with him. After all, he was Harry Potter, all right? The smart money said that anytime anything weird happened at Hogwarts, he'd be dragged into the middle of it in short order. Once upon a time this had concerned Harry, but then he'd just resigned himself to sitting back and waiting, secure in the knowledge that he'd eventually get sucking into whatever it was, whether he wanted to or not.

Seeing the look on Harry's face, the Guru smiled.

"Relax, Harry…I'm not here to make your life any more of a living hell that it already is. In face, while I'm here I might as well throw my weight around and make things a little better for you." He chuckled at this last joke, patting his ample belly to emphasize that he indeed had plenty of weight to throw around. "Now, first things first…what year are you?"

"Sixth, sir," Harry answered carefully, looking down.

"Sixth, hmm…okay, workable, not too late, then, except for Cedric and Sirius," he mused, talking to himself. "Okay, I didn't get a good look around outside on my way in, for obvious reasons," he grinned. "What month is it?"

"October, sir," Ron burst out, trying to slide closer to make sure he was noticed.

He was.

"Shut it, Weasel. I'm still low on coffee, and not terribly happy about being here to start with. Don't make me do what I want to do to you…or you, either, Granger," he went on, turning his head slightly, cutting off the bushy-headed girl just as she was going to speak. "Harry might put up with you for the sake of friendship—and Harry, if I'm here long enough, you and I are going to have to do some serious intensive therapy sessions about your abuse and self-worth issues, you're much better than either of these two—but I certainly don't have to. So, why don't you just beat it, and let Harry and I get down to business."

Ignoring the gaps, stares and gobsmacked expressions, the Guru looked around. Spotting the person he was looking for quickly, he raised his voice enough to carry. "Yo, Neville! Yes, you, Longbottom! Don't run off, I want to have a talk with you later." Turning his attention back to a shocked Harry, he smiled and went on. "Relax, Harry, I really am on your side. You'll see," he grinned. "Now, just wait here—I've told the staff you'll be a bit late for classes today, don't worry about that—I need some more coffee."

Rising, the Guru went over to the coffee station, trailed by an excited Ginny Weasley.

"Oh, Mister Doctor Guru, sir, I'm so excited to meet you. I'm Harry's girlfriend, you know, and I was wondering…." She stopped abruptly as the Guru burst out laughing.

"Honey, I hate to tell you this, but I know for a fact that you're not Harry's girlfriend," he chuckled.

"But…why not? We're dating, and I just know that he loves me, and we'll eventually marry and have at least three children, and…"

"Enough!" the Guru snapped his fingers, irritated, and where Ginny had been standing was…a cardboard image of Ginny, propped up by a leg of cardboard secured to the back.

"There," the Guru said, admiring his handiwork. "I always said she wasn't anything more than a cardboard cut-out. Stupid little Mary Sue," he grumped, going back to fixing another cup of coffee. Turning, he noticed that he was now on the receiving end of an interesting collection of horrified smiles and a few smug grins.

"What? What? Okay, so we all know that she's got about as much personality as a cut-out, so are you really surprised. Besides, it won't last for more than another few hours," he said, sipping his coffee. "I think…."

Ron Weasley looked like his head was about to explode. "You…you…turn my sister back, or I'll…"

What Ron might have done to a figure who had already demonstrated more power than Ron would ever hope to have will never be known; the Guru merely looked at him, snapped his fingers and said "_Cephalabrassica!"_ Immediately, Ron's head was replaced with a large, round turnip!

It was purple, with a large cluster of purple-shot green leaves on the top, rather like a green crown; and a root sticking down from where the chin would be, reminiscent of a beard. Of course, since it didn't have eyes, ears, nose or mouth it rendered Ron blind, deaf and mute, but he was still managing to breathe just fine, somehow. Probably magic….

Predictably, this set Hermione off. But, rather than drawing her wand, she used a weapon more horrifying and terrible than any spell—her voice.

"What have you done? Just what gives you the right to come in here, slaughter that poor innocent giant bunny, insult and demean our faculty and then assault our students? Have you no shame? Have you no decency? Have you no AAH-OOGAH!! AAH0OOGAH!"

Hermione abruptly shut her mouth, as her last words had come out sounding like an antique auto horn. When she opened her mouth again to continue her diatribe, the sound of a circular saw and hammering was all that issued forth. A third attempt yielded the sound of a jet engine throttling up, while a fourth try (persistent girl) sounded like a jackhammer.

Through it all the Guru merely stood there, calmly drinking coffee and smirking.

When Hermione finally wised up and shut her yap, silence descended on the Great Hall.

"Well, if I do nothing else, you three have made my trip worthwhile," the Guru said, satisfied with himself. Then he grinned hugely. "And I didn't feed anyone into the wood chipper…aren't you all proud of me?" he asked, looking around.

Still more horrified looks were directed his way, along with a few admiring ones. Seamus Finnegan was the first to speak.

"Brilliant! That's got to be the most brilliant spell I've ever seen!" he crowed. "Finally, somebody got Hermione to shut up!"

And with that, most of the people nearby gave it up and started laughing along with the very-relieved Gryffindors. Of course, watching Ron knock over his sister before banging face-first (if he'd still had a face) into the wall was also great fun, while Hermione could only sit there, mouth clamped tightly shut, steaming.

Through it all, Harry Potter just sat quietly, watching intently.

***

It was shortly thereafter that Harry and the Guru were walking through the corridors, alone for the first time.

"So, are you going to turn me into something horrible?" the Boy-Who-Lived asked.

"Why…were you trying to get your pick in early?" the Guru replied casually. Then, shaking his head at the dirty look Harry gave him, he answered. "No, not planning on it. Look, here's the deal. I need to ask you some very personal, very private questions, just to orient myself to exactly what the situation is around here. Then, I want to work with you to finish…whatever I've got to finish, which probably includes helping you kill Moldyshorts, before I leave. Okay? I'm sorry about your friends, and all that, yada yada yada, but still…you're actually better than those losers, and if Dumbles hadn't been such an idiot—leaving you with the Dursleys like he did, oh, that just steams me!—you'd realize that."

Harry didn't say anything for a long minute while he processed all that he had just been told. "So…you're here to help me kill Tom?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, probably. See, it has to do with story arcs," the Guru began to explain. "When Dumbledore barred the door to keep me here, I felt the story drop into place." At the blank looks he was getting, he sighed. "Look, here's the deal," he said sitting on a bench and waving Harry to set down beside him. "I'm a writer…of fan fiction, among other things. In my world, you're a character in a wildly popular series of books. That's one of the reasons your life sucks so bad, I'm afraid, Harry…you're the main character."

Harry's eyes went wide as saucers at this revelation. "You mean…I'm just a bloody character in a book, like…Sherlock Holmes?" he gasped, beginning to hyperventilate.

"'Fraid so, kiddo. In fact, you're so popular that literally thousands of people all over the world have taken to writing their own stories about your adventures as _they_ thought they ought to be written. This has created thousands upon thousands of 'Harry Potter Universes', of all types, where basically everything that could possibly happen, has or will happen." The Guru paused, then looked down. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I've done it myself, which is one of the main reasons I would up here."

"You…you've written these stories? About me?" Harry asked softly.

"Actually, about you and Cedric Diggory," the Guru gave Harry a small, encouraging smile. "My main work to date has been a series of stories about you and Cedric, being together here at Hogwarts."

"But Cedric died during the third task! How could he..?" Harry burst out.

The Guru smiled, and nodded. "I know, Cedric died here, and in most of the worlds. But, I thought it was horrible that he did…and after all, he was really too cute to die, wasn't he?...so I 'fixed' it in my stories."

"You…'fixed' it?" Harry asked carefully.

"Yep…I arranged for him to not be killed by the AK that Wormtail cast…then I created a plot gimmick to load him up with money, magic and as much technology as I reasonably could—I had him pulled into the future by a techno-spell—then sent back to help you." The older man smiled. "Oh, it's still underway, but by this point in the story you two are well and truly enamored of each other, and Cedric is working hard to make 'his' Harry's life better. Trust me, it'll ultimately have a happy ending, because I can't stand angsty endings. Life is angsty enough as it is," he finished, looking into the distance in a way that told Harry there were other stories besides his that this man could tell.

"So, you're actually 'in' this story, now?" Harry asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Yep, looks that way," the Guru sighed. "And, there's a logic to these things and the way they work. Years ago, I read a book about interdimensional travel called 'The Incredible Umbrella'…wish I had a copy for you to read, it'd make things much easier for both of us…but the gist of the thing is that once you get involved in a story arc, you can't leave until that particular arc is resolved."

"Meaning you're here to help me kill Voldemort," Harry said, more confidently.

"I think so," the Guru nodded. "But, there's probably a number of other things that I can do while I'm here, if you don't mind. For instance, there's a certain Slytherin Prince that I suspect you would like to get closer to, isn't there?"

Harry initially looked shocked, then frightened, then realized just who he was talking to. "Yeah, I guess. Can you help with that?"

The Guru ignored that question, choosing to press on. "Then, there's the matter of Dumbles, and how shabbily he treated you. I'm definitely going to dish out a little payback, if you don't mind…putting a child into an environment like that and leaving him there is beyond the pale, and the 'greater good' can bite my hairy butt!" The Guru snorted in anger as he thought about it. "Trust me, Harry, if I had landed here a few years ago, I'd have rescued you then, but I didn't, so I can't. Still, paybacks are hell, as they say." He grinned at Harry evilly. "Now, I'm thinking this is a 'draft' universe, with a bunch of plot lines that have come and gone but never been brought to completion. It's probably the reason the plot bunny could bring me here so easily. So, I want you to describe for me everything that's happened to you since you got your Hogwart's letter—I'll need to know just what the background is for me to help you fully."

"And then, you'll help me kill Voldemort, right?" Harry asked. "And I'll actually survive?" The young Gryffindor was literally bouncing in his excitement.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…didn't I say that I only like happy endings? Duh, of course you survive…and Draco, too. But," the Guru said, holding up one finger in a cautionary manner. "I'm not promising anything about the bi…Hermione, Mr. Turnip Head, or Miss Ginny Mary Sue Weaselette. Fair enough?"

"Brilliant," Harry answered.

And so, for the next two hours, Harry Potter sat and told the story of his life to the strangest man he had ever met.

***

A few hours later found Harry Potter and Doc Guru, as Harry had started calling him, standing in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"I don't know the password," Harry said. "Usually I just try guessing sweets until I hit the right one," he said, shrugging.

"Don't sweat it, Harry. Let me do the heavy lifting for a while…Merlin knows you've done enough the last five-plus years." Stepping forward, he looked the gargoyle straight in the eye and grinned evilly. "Life is all about choices," he began, his voice low and threatening. "You can choose to open up…or you can choose to be a pile of granite dust."

Harry thought he heard a gravelly 'eep', then the gargoyle moved aside, revealing the moving staircase.

"Good choice," the Guru said to the gargoyle, waving Harry ahead of him. Once in the Headmaster's office, the two found themselves face to face with the man himself: Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, etc. etc. etc.

The Guru nodded politely to the Headmaster, and without waiting, helped himself to a lemon drop.

"Not bad, Albus, not bad…usually I'm more of a chocolate man, myself, but there's a certain classic elegance to the good old lemon drop."

"I'm glad you approve, Doctor," Albus smiled, his eyes on full twinkle. "And, I trust that you and Harry had a long and fruitful conversation."

"Don't you know it," the Guru replied, locking eyes with the Headmaster. It was the opening that Dumbledore had been waiting for, and without hesitation he threw his mind forward into that of his visitor.

For nearly a minute Harry sat there, watching the two men. He'd been told what would probably happen buy the Guru shortly before coming here—inside of a translucent bubble of a shield spell the Guru had called a 'null zone'—so he wasn't surprised. What did surprise him was that the Guru's expression didn't change at all, while Dumbledore immediately grasped the arms of his chair and began sweating profusely. At last, the Headmaster snatched his head away, cursing softly, between dry heaves.

"Oh, and I should warn you, Albus…I practiced emergency medicine for a number of years, as well as psychiatry, including a stint in the prison system…plus I'm just a sick, twisted fornicator…so you enter my mind at your own risk." The Guru made the statement evenly, then helped himself to another lemon drop. "Now, how about some coffee? FRONT!"

A pop announced the arrival of the three house elves from earlier.

"Boys, be dears and bring up a tray of snacks, a pot of tea for these limeys and some coffee for me, if you would," he said, before they could speak. Nodding, they popped away.

"Now, Albus, if you've had your fill of playing mind games, can we carry on like civilized men? Or would you like another dose?" he grinned.

"No, thank you, I've had quiet enough," the Headmaster said carefully. He still looked a bit green around the gills, but pulled himself together with an effort. "I'm curious to know just how you managed those transfigurations of Mr. and Miss Weasley, as well as Miss Granger."

"Magic," the Guru said, grinning. Then, he waved his hand negligently. "Oh, don't worry about them; it should wear off in another couple of hours, leaving them hopefully just a little bit wiser than they were."

Dumbledore nodded, and let the matter drop. He'd already had Madam Pomphrey's report that the children weren't actually harmed as far as she could tell, but that she had no idea how to reverse the changes. Suppressing his sigh, he pressed on, asking the newcomer his next question. "Now, what I really need to know from you is your position with regards to the Dark or the Light. I really do not think that you are a supporter of Lord Voldemort, but I must be sure."

"Actually, Albus, I'm pretty sure that there's not lick-spit difference between you and Voldie, but that's another issue," the Guru began, then waved Albus down when he started to deny it. "Don't even start. You dumped Harry at the Dursleys, and left him there to be horribly abused. Where I come from, that's grounds to have you kicked out of this position, and probably sent to prison on any number of charges. Still, what's done is done…but I'm not going to let you abuse any more innocents, and your 'greater good' can be damned to the lowest depths of Baptist hell, as far as I care. SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!" he thundered, as the Headmaster went to rise. The force of his will slammed Dumbledore back down into his seat and sealed his mouth firmly shut. "Now, you brought this on yourself, by not letting me leave, so I'm going to work out a lot of mad on you…and Voldie…before it's through. Got it?" he asked, then waved his hand once more. "Oh, you can speak now, and move," he added.

Albus Dumbledore seethed, but controlled himself with an effort. Their visitor was obviously very, very powerful, and just as obviously, not a fan of one A. B. P. W. Dumbledore. "So, then…what are we to do?" he asked carefully.

The fat man looked uncertain for only a moment. "For the moment, not a lot. I'm going to be working with Harry to collect up Tom's horcruxes, and destroy them. Then, I want to pull Sirius back from beyond the Veil, if that's even possible for me to do." He shrugged. "I don't know, but it's worth a try. Then, Tommy boy gets his…and then I leave. Good enough?"

The Headmaster looked pained, but he nodded. "Harry, what is your opinion in this?" he asked.

Harry Potter smiled an evil smile at the man who had manipulated his entire life and made it what it was. "I think this is the most brilliant thing that's ever happened to me," he said, then started laughing at the look on the Headmaster's face.

***

**A/N:** This is ALL the fault of **Digitallace**! Blame her, not me. She's the one who got me started thinking about Harry Potter, and zombies (which would be just WRONG)…and then the damned bunny dragged me here. While your at her profile (writing messages to her, blaming her for this horror that is ALL HER FAULT), make sure you check out her most excellent fics.

Thoth Amon and his Organ Summoning, the Arduin Grimoire, Girl Genius (read the comic, seriously...hey Phil, here's your gratuitous plug!), Stranger in a Strange Land, Witness for the Prosecution, Shaun of the Dead, Monty Python, The Incredible Umbrella (Marvin Kaye, NY Dell, 1980) are all just borrowed, not owned by me. No profits are made by me from this fic (except for the warm, fuzzy feeling that it gives me).

_Cepahlobrassica_—literally, 'head-turnip'

**Next Chapter:** I don't know…should there even be a next chapter? Should I press on, or just let this one die a quite death in the Desert of Unfinished Fics? You tell me….


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** The Guru, the Headmaster and Harry make some plans...and the Slytherins are introduced to one of the greatest muggle inventions of all time. More crack!fic, brief mention of m/m slash (Harry/Draco)--don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: I own nothing--not Harry Potter, or stock in 3M, or any significant pieces of Star Wars memorabilia. I do have some really neat Star Trek collectibles, but have no rights to the franchise (drat).

_There is no opinion, however absurd, which men will not readily embrace as soon as they can be brought to the conviction that it is generally adopted._ - Arthur Schopenhauer

**Harry Potter and the Cliche of Death--Part 2**

Despite their somewhat rocky initial meeting, Headmaster Dumbledore and the Guru had reached a certain, shall we say, basic understanding of the situation.

In other words, the Guru had decided not to use the gender nullification charm on Dumbles, and Dumbles had decided to shut the frak up and not press the issue lest the Guru change his mind.

Harry Potter, for his part, was just happy that (a) the strange fat man's ire wasn't directed at him and (b) that he had really good seats for the confrontation between the two powerful figures.

The trio was still in Dumbledore's office, where the Guru was trying to come up with a workable plan for the next day or so.

"Okay, so here's the deal," he began, setting his coffee down on the edge of the Headmaster's desk. "I know all about the Horcruxes, at least in general terms. So, I think the best course of action is for us to collect them, free up the soul fragments, and then take care of Voldemort once and for all. Sound like a plan?" he asked, looking back and forth between Dumbledore and Harry.

Harry just shrugged—it sounded brilliant to him, especially since his chances for surviving his education looked to be going up by the minute—but Dumbledore frowned, choosing his words carefully.

"I think you underestimate Tom's ability to hide his horcruxes, Doctor," he said. "Certainly, if you have the power to circumvent his precautions, your assistance would be greatly appreciated, but I have devoted quite some time to the search for these objects without great success."

Now it was the Guru's turn to shrug. "Well, let's make a list, shall we? I always think better when I can see things written down in black and white. Got paper?" From his pocket he produced a muggle ink pen.

Dumbledore nodded, handing over a sheet of parchment, and offering a quill.

"No, thanks…I always have a pen, and it's been too many years since I played at calligraphy for me to even think about using a quill and ink," the Doctor said, pulling his chair closer to the desk. "Now, let's see…there's the diary—by the way, good job in the Chamber, Harry…and while I'm thinking about it, did you ever strip the basilisk down for parts and hide?—and then there's the locket…." He paused, biting his lip while Harry shook his head about the basilisk. "Okay, the locket actually won't be in the cave, Regulus got it and gave it to Kreacher, so Harry'll have to get it from Grimmauld Place," he muttered absently, ignoring the frank stare from Dumbledore. "Then there's the ring, which should be somewhere around the old Gaunt place. The cup, that'll take a trip to Gringotts…the tiara, that'll be the easiest, so might as well leave it for last…Nagini, probably have to go looking for her…and that should be it!" The Guru sat back, looking over his list, then smiled. "So, how are we going to divide this up?" he asked, looking at Dumbledore.

"I'm not certain just what it is that you are asking," Dumbledore huffed.

The Guru made a face and rolled his eyes. "Don't be dim, Albus. Obviously there's no reason for all three of us to go traipsing around together just to gather up a couple of misplaced horcruxes. So, which one do you want to go fetch while Harry and I go for the others?"

Dumbledore drew himself up. "While he is a student here, Mr. Potter's safety is my responsibility. I certainly can't justify allowing him to go haring off with an unknown person…."

"Troll. Quirrell. Basilisk. Barty, Jr. Dragon, Merpeople, portkey-trophy, and a reborn Moldy Butt. Twice." The Guru sat there, his face expressionless, his voice cold.

The Headmaster blushed, 'harrumphed' and looked away. "Yes, well, be that as it may…."

"Your record for protecting the children under your care is rather abysmal these past few years. Mine, however, is not," the large man once again interrupted the Supreme Mugwump in a voice as cold as liquid helium. "Do I really need to bring up the possession of Miss Weasley, multiple petrifications, and the death of Cedric Diggory? Shall we begin keeping score, Headmaster? Or, will you accept my word that no harm shall come to Mr. Potter while he is under _my_ protection, and let it go at that?" Turning to the young man sitting beside him, he smiled. "Harry, I realize that you don't know me very well, but I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe while you're with me. Is that good enough for you?"

Harry Potter looked at the strange man who he'd just seen for the first time in his life a few hours before and made up his mind. "Yeah, it's good with me," he said, then smiled. Turning to his Headmaster, the young Gryffindor tried to explain. "I really think it'll be fine, Professor. Doc here can do some amazing things, and if he says he'll protect me, then I believe him."

Albus Dumbledore pursed his lips in displeasure, but had no choice but to nod in agreement. Certainly the man's plan sounded logical enough. "Well, then, if Harry feels that he will be adequately protected, then I suppose that I will allow it," he sighed. "So long as you clear any destinations with me prior to your leaving, of course."

"Of course," the Guru said, gracious in victory. "Now, I'd suggest that you take the ring, while Harry and I see about retrieving the Hufflepuff cup from Gringotts, as well as the Slytherin locket from Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Both of those locations are in London, so we should be able to floo there and back again without much difficulty. Plus, if we floo from Number 12 Grimmauld Place directly to Gringotts, Harry won't be exposed to any travel time on the streets. Acceptable?"

Dumbledore nodded, impressed at the sensitivity to security concerns that the man across from him displayed. "Yes, I think it will be acceptable. Of course, the only floo here at Hogwarts that you'll be able to use to access Number 12 is the one here in my office."

The Guru nodded his understanding. "As I expected…and we'll also need to return here from Gringotts, unless I miss my guess." When the Headmaster nodded once more, he continued. "Very good. Well, I would suggest that Harry and I go this afternoon, right after lunch…unless you have a class that you absolutely can't miss, Harry," he said, turning to the young man sitting beside him.

Harry smirked as he answered. "Actually, right after lunch I have Potions, so missing it won't be a hardship for me."

The Boy Who Lived was surprised when the Guru shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no! I could never allow you to ditch Potions, just to go on a mission to save the Wizarding World," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Actually, I was hoping to have a chance to sit in on one of your Potions classes myself, and I think that today might just be the best time to do just that!" He grinned, then continued. "After all, we don't really know how long I'll be here, and I'd hate to miss the chance to share some of my…unique insights…into the subject. Don't you agree, Headmaster?" he asked, turning to Dumbledore with an innocent expression on his face.

"Oh, I'm sure that you have a great deal to offer," Dumbledore began, but was cut off before he could say anything more.

"Great! It's settled then! I'll sit in on Harry's Potions class right after lunch, then we'll just pop over to Grimmauld Place, then to Gringotts and be back here in time for supper. No muss, no fuss, no problems." The Guru smiled broadly, and something in his manner told the Headmaster that he wouldn't take any disagreements well.

"Well, I suppose so…but you mentioned that you wanted me to seek out another of the horcruxes. Could you tell me a bit more about just what I'm supposed to be looking for, and where you expect me to find it?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

"My dear Headmaster, nothing would give me greater pleasure! First of all, the ring you're looking for should be hidden somewhere around the old Gaunt house—Tommy Boy's mother's old family place. I presume that you can find out where that is?" When the ancient wizard nodded, the Guru beamed at him and continued. "The ring itself is a gold band with a black stone, and the stone should have a definite affinity for your wand…understand?" He smiled as understanding bloomed in Dumbledore's expression. "Exactly. I trust that you'll be able to find the stone with just that bit of information; but if not, then scan the area for a strong concentration of wards, curses and death magics. I have no idea of just what kind of traps Tom might have placed around the ring itself, but I'd strongly advise you not to put the damned thing on for any reason."

"Might I ask why not?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

"Because Tommy's almost as much of an evil bastard as I am, and I know that I'd load that particular ring up with enough nastiness to bite your arm off, if it were me." The Guru smiled as he said this, but Harry had the distinct impression that every word he was saying was nothing less than the absolute truth.

"Indeed," was all that Dumbledore said, a far-away look in his eyes.

"Mmm. At any rate, if you can just retrieve it—preferably without letting Tommy know that you've got ahold of it, bring it back here and we'll see about de-soulifying all of the things in one mass horcrux-destruction party."

"Won't Voldemort know when we start destroying parts of his soul?" Harry asked carefully.

The Guru shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe…probably…I haven't got the faintest idea. Still, I'd rather assume he will, and go ahead and gather them all up before we start messing with them, than risk him finding out, taking the ones we haven't got, and going to ground with them. I can think of considerably worse places that he could have hidden the stupid things—say, for instance, somewhere under the Arctic ice cap—and I'd rather not give him that chance. Feel me?"

Harry shrugged, not understanding the idiom but totally in agreement with the sentiment. "Sounds reasonable to me. Headmaster?" he asked, turning to the old man.

"I believe that the Doctor has raised a valid concern, Harry, and as such I find myself in agreement with his plans."

"Well, good, then. So, isn't it about lunch time? I don't know about you two, but I'm starving," the Guru smiled broadly, rising from his chair.

"A capital idea!" Dumbledore agreed, rising as well. "And, I'm sure that young Harry here is also quite hungry…he is a growing boy, after all," the Headmaster said, perhaps a bit too heartily.

Harry wasn't buying it, but he shrugged his shoulders and said "yeah" in that noncommittal way teenagers have. Standing up, he followed the Guru, who was already heading for the stairs leading out of the Headmaster's office.

"Why don't you two go on to the Great Hall," Dumbledore was saying. "I have a few minor things which I need to clear up, then I'll be right along," he said, smiling brightly.

"Of course, Headmaster," the Guru said, turning. "We'll meet you there, then," and with that, he walked briskly out of Dumbledore's office, Harry trailing close behind him.

Harry followed the older man down the stairs and out into the corridor, but waited to speak until the gargoyle had slid back into place, blocking the stairway.

"I can't believe the old coot went along with you without a bigger fuss," Harry laughed.

The Guru grinned, looking down at the smaller boy who walked beside him. "Well, I didn't really give him much of a choice, did I? Especially since I obviously know more about what's going on with the horcruxes than he does."

"Yeah, about that," Harry said, hesitatingly. "I know that you said that you come from a place where all of this is just a bunch of books, but that's still creeping me out."

"Actually, Harry, I think that's probably a normal, rational response to the situation," the fat man replied cheerfully. "I'd actually be a bit concerned about you if you didn't have some doubts, even after what you've seen and we've discussed. Still, unless things are vastly different than I expect them to be, we'll be able to use what I know to do an end run around old Moldy Shorts and his Butt Munchers. Once we get the horcruxes taken care of, I've got a few ideas about how to deal with Tommy Boy once and for all…leaving you and Draco to get on with the whole 'happily ever after' thing."

At the mention of the young Malfoy heir, Harry blushed a brilliant crimson. "Yeah, about that…is that part in the stories about me, too? Me and Draco, I mean…."

"Only in the really good ones, Harry me boy," the Doctor laughed. Then, almost to himself, "well, at least most of the really good ones that I bother to read, anyway. And, since I'm here, that means that, ipso facto, that you and Draco will indeed be an item, and get the 'happy ever after' package as part of the deal."

"Brilliant!" Harry said, his eyes shining.

And together, the pair made their way down the hallway, laughing together.

***

Lunch that day found the visitor—'call me Guru, or Doc, or whatever…I've answered to a lot of things in my long and varied career'—sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, jotting notes on a small yellow pad and occasionally pulling off one of the pages only to stick it on the table in front of him.

Harry Potter had already been sent off to the Gryffindor table, his questioning look only answered with a sly grin and a shake of the strange man's head. They were among the first people to arrive in the Hall, the food hadn't yet arrived.

Several Slytherins had decided to forego their usual seats and had moved to the opposite ends of the long table from their visitor. He had already looked up at them several times, smiling encouragingly, but hadn't done anything else except smile, then go back to his scribbling.

Draco Malfoy, the Ice Prince of Slytherin, entered the Great Hall with his usual entourage trailing behind him. His eyes immediately swept over the Gryffindor table, noting instantly that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was already sitting there, engrossed in a textbook. Draco couldn't help but notice that Harry was chewing on his lower lip as he studied, which made Draco want to go straight to him and chew on that lip himself. However, as he always did, he restrained himself, and never broke stride as he moved toward his accustomed seat at the Slytherin table.

Today, however, Draco found the seat across from his customary place taken up by the strange man who had made such an impressive entrance to the Hall that very morning.

His Malfoy Emotionless Mask™ firmly in place, Draco walked up (in what he sincerely hoped looked like a confident fashion) to his usual spot at the table.

"Hello, Draco, have a seat. Sorry if I've scared some of your house mates." Without looking up, the strange man addressed the _de facto_ leader of the Snake House.

If Draco was surprised to be so addressed without even a glance at him, he hid it well. "Somehow I find that rather hard to believe," he answered coolly, sliding into place at the table gracefully.

"What? That I'm sorry I'm such a scary SOB, or that I'd actually say that I was? Sorry, that is." The Guru finally looked up from his notes and grinned. "Too bad I can't say that I'm sorry I'm such a scary SOB. Well, I could say that, but it'd be a big damn lie." Still grinning, he fluttered his eyebrows at Draco in such an obviously exaggerated way that several of the other Slytherins burst into giggles.

Draco, of course, kept his reaction to the man's antics to a single twitch of one corner of his mouth. "Oh, really?"

"Yeppers. Really. You know, the three types of lies…lies, damn lies, and statistics?"

"I'm surprised that you would use such language around children," Draco ventured, trying to take back control of the conversation (and working hard to ignore the crack about statistics, which he didn't recognize).

The fat man shrugged. "Normally, I wouldn't, but these are Slytherins. If they haven't heard these words already, then it's high time that they did…don't you agree?"

Draco found himself smiling in spite of himself. "I suppose that's true," he ventured.

"Of course it is. Now, tell the rest of them that you've cowed me sufficiently so that I won't be turning them into newts until after pudding is served, so they can have some lunch." With a snort, he went back to scribbling on his note pad, tearing off one more of the small yellow things with a flourish and sticking it to the table in front of him before starting on the next one.

Some of the older Slytherins—mostly those who had stood near enough to hear the exchange between the strange man and their leader—began taking their seats. Of course, being Slytherins, most of these seats somehow managed to be some distance from the source of their anxiety. It wasn't until a young girl, obviously a firstie, came up shyly to the man that any of them dared to approach him directly.

Carefully (and looking ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble), the firstie cleared her throat before reaching out to gently tap on the Guru's arm.

"Excuse me…Mr. Doctor Guru, sir?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Slowly, so as not to frighten the child, the Guru turned to her, a gentle smile on his face. "Yes, Miss? May I help you?"

Blushing, she nodded. "Could…could you show me the sticking charm you're using on those notes? I can see them stuck to the table," she said, with a look at the little pieces of yellow paper that were indeed stuck to the table along one side, the other ends moving gently in the air currents, "but you're not using a wand or saying a spell." She looked at him hopefully, her eyes large in her smallish face.

"That's because I'm not using any magic on the notes…they come that way, see?" the Guru said, pulling off the topmost paper from the small pad. "They have a special glue on them that's not terribly sticky…just enough to hold it in place, but not too strong to keep it stuck when you want to move it. See?" he said, sticking the paper to his own forehead and grinning, before pulling it off again.

The firstie's eyes became comically wide as she gasped. "But…doesn't it hurt?" she breathed.

"Nah, not at all. Here, you try," the man said, handing her the note that was now stuck to his fingers.

Carefully, the young girl reached out and took the note from him, then tested the stickiness on her own hand.

"It just sticks, then pulls off!" she said, astonished. Then, she looked at the still-smiling man and grinned hugely. "Brilliant! But I don't feel any magic on it…could you teach me the charm for this? Please?" she amended, remembering her manners at the last second.

The fat man shook his head, his face falling into a comic frown. "Nope, sorry, can't do that," he said, then laughed. "It's not a charm, they come from the factory that way." At her confused look, he looked at her carefully. "Let me guess…pureblood, right?" When the girl nodded, he sighed. "Well, okay, then. Brace yourself," he said, well aware that their conversation was being very closely followed by almost everyone in Slytherin. Leaning forward, he waved the young girl closer before saying in a stage whisper "it's a muggle invention", in the same tone he would have used to describe some particularly vile perversion.

"It's…muggle?" the little girl asked, then looked at the piece of paper still stuck to her hand as if it had suddenly acquired a coating of dung.

"Yeppers, sho 'nuff," the Guru smiled, then said, his voice a bit cold. "It's still just as brilliant as it was when you thought it was magical, isn't it?"

"I…well," the girl stammered, then looked away, blushing.

"Okay, I see that we all need to have a little conversation, right now," the fat man said, frowning. "What's your name, girl?" he demanded.

The little girl's head snapped around, then just as quickly she went back to studying something on the wall which was obviously terribly interesting. "Ellsbeth Loxley," she said, her voice clipped.

"Well, Miss Ellsbeth Loxley, come here, sit down and let's talk," the man said, his tone making it a command more than his words. "Look, I don't know what you've been told about muggle things, but I can make a reasonably good guess, just based on your reaction to the posty-note. Muggle things are supposed to be inferior in every way, am I right?"

Ashley nodded, but sat down beside the Guru anyway, smoothing out her robes as she sat in a way that told him that the gesture was automatic for her. Uh-huh, robe wearer all her life, he thought. This won't be an easy sell.

"I guess you've already figured out just how useful notes like this can be, right?" he asked. Then, without waiting for her, he went on to answer his own question. "They are some of the most useful things I've even run across, especially for studying or making quick notes. You can use them to flag important parts of books, or stick a note up where you can't loose it, like this," he said, sticking a note to the girl's sleeve with a grin, "or even this," with a quick movement, he reached behind him and stuck a note on the chest of the boy who was sitting on his other side.

"Hey!" Blaise Zabini objected, when the bright yellow note stuck to his robe.

"Suck it up, Snake Boy," the Guru chucked over his shoulder, not reacting beyond a mock-glare when Blaise, snickering, stuck the note to his back in retaliation. Turning his attention back to young Ashley, he went on. "Funny story, actually. The man who developed this particular glue was told by his supervisor that it was useless. After all, who wants a glue that doesn't really hold?" He snorted. "For years, this product was Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing's biggest money-maker—may still be, for all I know. Just goes to show you that sometimes the people above you don't know what they're talking about."

"But…it's muggle," Ashley said, her voice small.

"So?" the Guru asked calmly.

"But…it's muggle," Ashley went on, close to tears.

"So am I," the older man said. "Does it matter?" he asked, ignoring the gasps coming from all around him.

"But…we saw you…you can't be a muggle," the young girl said, confused.

"Not here, no, but I assure you, back at home where I come from, the only magic I routinely work these days is at a keyboard." He grinned, then turned as the table filled up with food. "Oh, cool! Let's eat. Somebody pass me the mashed taters…."

***

That lunch would later be remembered by the Slytherins as one of the strangest that they had ever had at Hogwarts. The fat man in their midst had somehow managed to work his way through three helpings of Hogwarts fare, while keeping up a running discussion on muggles, magic, something called 'technology', something else called 'fan fiction', and the inevitable Star Trek vs. Star Wars debate. Unfortunately, the Slytherins had only the vaguest notion of what Star Trek or Star Wars was, which gave the Guru the perfect excuse to drag in muggle-borns from the other Houses and allowed to Guru to expound upon the vast superiority of Star Trek over Star Wars—especially the remastered versions of the trilogy.

"…and don't get me started on Jar-Jar Binks," the Guru was saying, then abruptly caught himself.

"Wait a minute…Draco, this is your sixth year, right?" he asked urgently.

Draco's eyes went wide for a moment before he brought his features back under control. "Yes, that's correct. Why?" he asked carefully.

The Guru beamed. "Because you poor unfortunates don't have any idea what's coming, do you?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on, laughing. "Oh, my poor babies…you've got three more years before you know the true meaning of horror! You have yet to experience the Gungan Rasta from outer space!" He was laughing so hard by this time that he almost fell off the bench.

Around him, the students could only look at one another and shrug in confusion. Fortunately for them all, the Doctor quickly calmed himself.

"Oh, my stars and garters…sorry about that, kids. It's just that I suddenly realized what year it is here." Shaking his head, he visibly put the thought aside. Then, to himself, "actually, if I popped over to the Skywalker Ranch and did an emergency lobotomy on Lucas for the good of all mankind…no, no, one story arc at a time, fat boy, one arc at a time." He shook his head firmly, then looked up at the students around him and smiled brightly. "Just a wandering thought, never mind, moving right along…now where were we?"

"Actually, it's almost time for our next class," Draco said, rising.

"Oh, really? And would that just happen to be Double Potions with the Gryffindors?" the Guru said, a smile growing on his face.

"Yes, actually…why?" Pansy Parkinson wanted to know.

"Oh, goody," was all that the Guru said…then began chuckling evilly.

**A/N:** okay, it's short, but the best I could do for now. I am working on another couple of fics (including the sequel to One Wizarding Summer), but my fanfics are having to be fitted into the cracks around Real Life projects. *sigh* Sorry.... Thanks to all of you who have messaged me asking for another post, this little bit of fluff is for all of you. :)

**Next Chapter:** Snape vs. the Guru. Expect fireworks. Doc doesn't intimidate easily.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** At last! It's Snape vs. the Guru in the Potions Lab!

Disclaimer: nope, still no ownership, no profits, no nuthin. Bummer.

_What the hell is going on out here? - Vince Lombardi_

**Harry Potter and the Cliché of Death Chapter 3**

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry swept into the Potions dungeon with his trademark swirl of robes. Scowling out across the wretched Gryffindors that insisted upon soiling his Slytherins with their very existence, he drew a deep breath in preparation for launching into his customary beginning of class tirade.

Unfortunately for the Potions Master, he was still inhaling when he noticed the newest addition to his classroom. The choking which followed required several moments, as well as a conjured glass of water, to bring under control.

"And just what do you think you're doing in my Potions classroom?" Snape finally managed to choke out.

The Guru smiled at the Professor, appearing to not have a care in the world. "Oh, I just thought I'd come down here for a bit of slumming…you know, see how the other half lives, give you a few pointers, that kind of thing. Might even teach the kiddies a thing or two along the way, you never know…" he finished cheerfully.

"Wha…give me a few pointers? Why, you…" Snape sputtered as his coughing fit resumed.

"You know, you really need to see somebody about that cough. I could whip you something up for it, if you'd like," the Guru said happily.

The Potions Master looked as if he was going to have a fit of extreme apoplexy at this last, which wasn't improved when the Guru moved to slap him vigorously on the back. "That's it, just try and breathe. Give me two minutes, no, I don't mind at all…fix you right up!" Somehow Snape found himself guided to a seat off to one side of the desks, while the Guru turned towards the door.

"Front!" he called, and immediately the same three house elves which had come at his call before appeared with quiet pops. "Hi, boys…up for running a little errand for me?" he asked, smiling as the elves nodded vigorously. "Good, good…now, I'll need a bottle of medium-good whiskey, a bag of hard peppermint candy—or a cup of sugar, if you can't get the peppermints—an ounce of oil of peppermint, a funnel, two shot glasses and a can of Coke®. Can you get that for me?"

"Master Doctor Guru, sir, will firewhiskey do?" the boldest of the elves asked, while the other two looked at one another uncertainly.

"I don't see why not," the strange man answered, smiling warmly at the little creatures. "Just as long as you don't bring me a bottle of the very good stuff…it's a crime against nature to turn really good whiskey into cough syrup."

"We is being right back!" the elf squeaked, nodding happily, and all three disappeared.

Smiling, the Guru turned to face the somewhat stunned class. One quick glance at Snape convinced him that the Professor wasn't in imminent danger of asphyxiation, so he promptly directed his attention to the students.

"Well, it seems that I'll be starting off with a simple recipe for homemade cough syrup," he said, pitching his voice to carry to the back of the room. "Now…who wants to volunteer to help me throw this together?" Looking around, he noticed that most of the students were busily averting their eyes, desperately trying not to be chosen. Well, then, time for a little fun. "Neville Longbottom, front and center…where's Neville?" the Guru called out.

"Huh…here, sir," an anxious voice came from somewhere in the middle of the room.

"Well, Mr. Longbottom, get your bottom up here," the Guru laughed, waving the trembling boy forward. Ignoring the young wizard's stammering attempts to tell the older man about his dismal skill in potions, the Guru merely patted him on the back and smiled down at him. "Buck up, old man. You'll do fine. Piece of cake." And then he winked at the young man, his eyes twinkling.

Just then one of the house elves reappeared, holding a fifth of McTavish's Pride White Label firewhiskey. "Is this being good enough, sir?" the elf asked anxiously.

"Honestly, I don't know…let's find out, shall we? Did you bring the glasses?" the Doctor asked, nodding his head when the elf produced the requested glassware. "Very good…now, let's see what we've got here," he said, deftly opening the bottle and pouring a generous amount into one of the shot glasses.

"Tookers," he toasted the class, then threw the entire shot back in one smooth motion.

For a long second nothing happened. Then, the Guru's eyes crossed, his face twisted into a strained grimace, his tongue protruded from between his lips and his head began to vibrate rapidly while a 'latalatalatalatalat' sound came from somewhere around his mouth. Then, his head locked into place just as a piercing steam whistle sound filled the room while flames and smoke shot out of the fat man's ears.

"Smooth," he gasped out, then coughed once, pounded himself in the chest and coughed again. "Oh, yeah!" he said in a nearly normal voice. Then, straightening, he exclaimed "that'll tickle the innards! Oh, my, yes, that'll do nicely, thank you," he grinned down at the happy elf. "Now, about the other things I asked for…?"

Just then a second elf popped in. "We is not finding pure oil of peppermint in the kitchen, sir, so Welky is popping out to get some. I is finding this bag of peppermint candies…will that do the Master until Welky returns?"

"That will do nicely, in point of fact. Oh, I will need a clean dishcloth and a rolling pin…or maybe a claw hammer, if you've got one handy, since we're going to use the peppermint." The Guru's broad smile became a bit accusing. "You didn't happen to find these candies in the Headmaster's office, by any chance…did you?"

The little elf blushed and stared at the floor for a moment before looking up, grinning. "Maybe?" he said, then popped away smiling when the Doctor laughed out loud. In seconds he was back with the requested cloth and rolling pin. "Mikkey is wanting to know what Master Doctor Guru is using the cloth and rolling pin for…if Mikkey is being allowed to ask," the elf said quickly.

"Of course you're allowed to ask," the Guru said, taking the cloth and rolling pin. "It's quite simple, really…I'm going to use this to crush the peppermints, because it makes them easier to mix in the firewhiskey."

"Sir, you're going to…mix candy in firewhiskey? Isn't that dangerous?" one of the Slytherins asked carefully.

The Doctor grinned. "I have no earthly idea…I suppose we'll just have to do the experiment and find out, now won't we?" Seemingly unconcerned about the possibility of something going wrong, he proceeded to pour the peppermints into the center of the cloth, which he then gathered up and twisted closed.

"All right, Mr. Longbottom, time to get to work," he said, handing the cloth to Neville. "What I want you to do is pretend that this cloth is Snape's greasy head, and give it about two dozen good whacks with this rolling pin. Think you can do that?" he asked, ignoring the fresh sputtering coming from the direction of the glaring Potions Master.

"With pleasure, sir," Neville replied, and set to his task with a will. For the next minute or so, the sound of Neville pounding the candies into power—paused only briefly when the Guru showed him how to hold the towel closed properly, and reminded him not to smack his own hand—echoed throughout the dungeons.

"Well, that should be good enough," the Guru said, when a madly grinning Neville paused to take a breath and shake out his arm. "Oh, yeah, that's just fine, Neville. Now, where's the whiskey and the funnel?" he asked looking around. Taking the bottle, the Doctor poured himself another generous dose, which was tossed back with considerably less drama than the first one. In fact, all he did was smack his lips and exclaim "ah, Mother's milk!" before using the funnel to pour a quantity of crushed candies into the flask.

"Now, Neville, while I'm shaking this to dissolve the candy, why don't you tell the class what you know about the peppermint plant?" the Guru asked gently.

"I…uh…sir?" Neville asked, suddenly anxious.

"Oh, come on, Neville, it's hardly a secret that you're the hottest thing to happen to Herbology since cow manure," the Guru scoffed. "Tell us a bit about the peppermint plant…you know, how it came about, what you can use it for, that kind of stuff. And I don't want to see any of the rest of you writing any of this down, do you hear me?" he mock-growled at the class. "There will NOT be a test on this later; this is for you to KNOW and not for some stupid exam." Satisfied that everyone had put down their quills (even an irritated-looking Hermione Granger), the Guru nodded for Neville to begin.

"Well, uh, the peppermint plant as we know it was actually an accidental hybrid discovered sometime around the year 1696, when some regular mint plants happened to sprout and then interbreed with the plants in a spearmint bed. The plant can be used in a number of ways, but it's perhaps best known as the source for the volatile oil that bears its name…."

And with that, Neville was off to the races!

***

Some time (and a surprisingly informative and interesting talk about peppermint) later, the Guru gently broke in on Neville's spiel. "Okay, Neville, you've made your point, now shut it," he laughed, his tone taking any sting out of the words. "While you've been teaching us about peppermint, I've been dissolving as much candy in this whiskey as I possibly could, so now we have a supersaturated solution of peppermint candy—which, as you can guess, is mostly sugar—in whiskey. Now, who can tell me how I know it's a supersaturated solution?" he paused, and looked around expectantly.

When no one answered, the Guru made a disgusted sound, then turned to gripe at the silently glaring Potions Master. "Got them thoroughly cowed, don't you, Severus. Some teacher _you_ are," he said, turning back. "Okay, this is a real easy one. By definition, a solution becomes saturated when no additional solute can be dissolved into the solvent…got it? So, in this case, the solvent is…what?"

"Er, the firewhiskey?" Draco ventured carefully, his face scrunched in concentration.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy. 5 points to Slytherin. So, that would mean that the solute would be…what, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

Harry paused, thinking, then answered carefully. "The candy?"

The Guru grinned widely. "Absolutely right, 5 points to Gryffindor. See, this is really easy. Now, everybody look closely," he said, holding up the bottle. The entire class (except, of course, for the Professor, who was still trying to glare the Doctor to death, without much success) could see a layer of undissolved candy on the bottom of the bottle.

"Does it mean that…super-whatever thingy if you've still got candy left over in the bottom?" Blaise asked.

"Yeppers...see, a solution is supersaturated when you've gone beyond the point where any more solute will dissolve in the solvent. So, since I've been shaking this for the last few minutes without any change in how much candy is left over, I can say with confidence that the whiskey is supersaturated with the sugar from the candy."

"So…is it cough syrup yet?" a student asked.

"Not quite yet…but we're getting there." Turning, he picked up the small brown bottle labeled 'Oil of Peppermint' that the returning house elf had put there while Neville was talking. "Okay, so we've taken our firewhiskey—minus a couple of quality-control shots for the mixer"—he grinned, "—and dissolved as much peppermint candy in it as we possibly can, plus a bit more. Now, I'm going to add this entire bottle to the firewhiskey, and hope it doesn't blow the entire castle to Kingdom Come." At the horrified looks and immediate scraping of chairs being pushed back, he laughed. "Get back here, you cowards, I'm not going to blow up the castle…I think," he grinned. Then, carefully, he added the oil directly to the flask of sugared whiskey, then shut his eyes tightly closed.

Nothing happened.

The Guru smiled happily, then took a deep breath before suddenly yelling out "BOOM!" Setting the bottle down, he gave himself over to his laughter as the entire class (and one very irritated Professor) picked themselves up from wherever they had thrown themselves when he yelled.

"Gotcha, every single one of you," he snickered, shaking his head at the various glares he was receiving. "Okay, okay, five points to everybody for good reflexes, okay? Sheesh, none of you people can take a frakkin joke…."

"Oh, we're sorry…was that supposed to be funny?" Draco snarked as he smoothed his robes.

"Yeah, next time hold up a sign or something," Harry groused.

"Oh, you're just mad that you didn't think of it first," the Guru said, totally unrepentant. "Now, let's just give old Snapey his medicine, shan't we?"

Turning to the irate (but somehow, mysteriously silenced Professor), the Guru poured a generous dollop in the second shot glass he had requested.

"All right, Severus, down the hatch. I promise you that this will take away that nasty cough of yours." Holding it out, the Guru just stood there, one eyebrow raised in challenge until Snape reached out, snatched it away and downed it on one gulp.

Immediately the Professor's face turned bright red and steam poured from his ears as he made a face. "Gaaaaak," he said. "Horrible, absolutely horrible!" he protested.

"Why, Professor Snape…I would have thought that you, of all people, would realize that the taste of a potion is thoroughly immaterial to the efficacy of said potion, and therefore completely beneath the notice of the brewer." The Guru kept one eyebrow raised as he forced-fed Snape one of his own expressions. "In point of fact, the concoction I just gave you is a bit strong, but none of the flavors it contains are in and of themselves terribly noxious…unlike many of the vials of sludge you routinely foist on an undeserving world. Now," he said, turning a contemptuous back on the Professor, "the alcohol in the whiskey serves as a powerful mucolytic—who can tell me what a mucolytic is…?"

And, for the next five minutes, the Guru discussed the wonders of home made cough syrup at some length.

***

"So, sugar soothes the throat and promotes saliva production which calms the cough reflex, the peppermint acts as a decongestant and mild bronchodilator, and the liquor thins the mucus, thus serving as an expectorant. Any questions?" the Guru summarized.

"Surely you don't mean to suggest that…that muggle-derived brew could ever possibly replace a proper wizarding cough potion, do you?" Snape, having finally found his voice (without any coughing, oddly enough) snapped.

"Oh, I don't know…you haven't coughed once since we gave you a good dose, now have you?" the Guru asked coldly.

"My cough was merely the result of a temporary dysfunction…."

"Yes, yes, we know, your entire upper respiratory system went on the fritz, we heard, Snape! But, since you're so convinced of your superiority to me, let's see, shall we?" The Guru's eyes lit with a dangerous gleam. "Ask me three questions, any three questions at all. Then, I'll ask you three questions, and we'll see just who answers the most correctly. Fair enough?"

"Hmmph. I doubt that you'd be able to answer any questions which I might pose to a student," Snape said, his lip curling as he spoke.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I ought to at least know the kinds of things you'd ask, say, a little firstie named Harry Potter," the Guru replied, insolence bubbling in his voice.

"Very well, then tell me…what would I have if I were to add powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" The Potions Master's eyes positively glowed as the memory of a previous humiliation danced through his head.

"Aside from ruining a perfectly good batch of potential absinthe, you mean?" The Guru's face was serene, even peaceful as he answered. "Drought of the Living Death. Although, I'd really rather make the absinthe, if it's all right with you," he went on as the class looked on in surprise.

"And where would you need to look if I sent you after a bezoar?"

At this, the Guru merely shrugged. "Anywhere in the alimentary tract, although classically they are described as being located in the stomach. Since a bezoar is, by definition, a mass of swallowed foreign material which fails to pass through the gastrointestinal system, anything with a gut can technically have a bezoar. Bezoars are usually composed of swallowed hair and fiber and typically are indeed located in the stomach, but the term is used to refer to any compacted mass of ingested material." The Guru shrugged. "I know the ones you most commonly use in making poison antidotes come from goats, but I'm personally aware of cases of pill bezoars being reported in the literature. The two most common types of bezoars are the trichobezoar and the phytobezoar, the first being primarily composed of swallowed hair and the second being predominately nonabsorbed plant fibers. Of course, there's always the rare case of Rapunzel syndrome, in which a trichobezoar extends from the stomach into the small bowel." He paused and shrugged again. "I could go on, but will that do?" His eyes twinkling, the Guru added as an aside. "I did a brief report on bezoars some years ago…what an interesting coincidence!"

Severus Snape closed his eyes briefly, fighting for composure. Then, opening his eyes, he tried one last time. "Very well. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Only the spelling, since they're both common names for aconite, which is an extremely potent neurotoxin. It can be fatal in ingestion, primarily by causing severe bradycardia leading to ventricular arrhythmia, cardiovascular collapse and death, and aconite poisoning is best treated with supportive treatment: atropine for bradycardia, activated charcoal following gastric lavage for acute ingestion, antiarrhymics with fluid and/or pressor support as indicated…will that be all, Severus?"

Snape nodded weakly, collapsing back into his chair. Damn the man! He'd been not only correct, but had inundated Snape with more information than the wizard had ever thought possible! And now, it was his turn, and he was already speaking….

"First of all, _Professor_ Snape, I don't expect you to appreciate the subtle mysteries of high energy physics, the transcendent wonder that is molecular genetics, the elegance of physical biochemistry, to say nothing of the calculus! No, Snape, you're content with your little bubbling pots and smelly vials, making your fumes and stenches while mixing up puddles of glop I wouldn't pour onto a compost heap, much less give to a patient. You, with your claims of bottled fame, brewed glory and stoppered death; what can you offer me, a Doctor of Medicine and a Man of Science?" With this last, the Guru struck a heroic pose, one finger proudly waving aloft, his voice ringing out. "Tell me, Professor," he went on, rounding on the black-robed man, "what is the most singularly useful property of the DNA polymerase of _Thermophilus aquaticus_?" When Snape just stared at him, uncomprehending, the Doctor snorted in derision. "As any first-year muggle biology student can tell you, _Taq 1 _DNA polymerase is stable at high temperatures. Now, quickly, whose eponymous equations are used to adjust for observational differences between two separate observers moving at differing velocities?" He paused, smirking, as Snape gaped like a fish out of water. "How about if I gave you a hint: they also allow you to calculate the degree of time dilation and length contraction that occurs as one approaches the speed of light. Still no answer, Snapey? The Lorentz transformations. Zero for two, Professor. Care to try again?"

"Now see here!" Snape broke in angrily. "I hardly see how this…."

"Hardly see is correct. Still, you felt perfectly confident in grilling a certain muggle-raised firstie a few years back about potions lore that he had no way of knowing, didn't you? Aren't paybacks a bitch?" The Guru's smirk threatened to split his face while Snape sputtered incoherently. "I haven't asked you any question that I wouldn't expect any teen-aged muggle university student to know. Tell you what, let's make it a bit easier on you, shall we? Tell me, if you can, where I could find the Mohorovičić discontinuity? That one should be easy for a muggle student, the equivalent of a Hogwarts firsie."

Severus Snape drew himself up to his full height and attempted to look down his nose at the interloper in his dungeon. "I have no idea what you are babbling about, and I certainly wouldn't know about muggle topics," he said, contemptuously.

"Really? So, I suppose that the planet you're standing on has no interest to you? How…insanely provincial of you." Turning to the students, most of whom were now gaping at him openly, the Guru grinned. "The Moho, as it's commonly known, marks the boundary between earth's crust and its mantle. If memory serves, it was discovered by the Croatian gentlemen whose name it bears sometime in the early 1900's. It's important because earthquake P-waves travel much faster when they reach the Moho, which you need to know if you're going to do things like predict where tsunamis will hit and stuff like that."

"We are not generally prone to tsunamis in Scotland," Snape sneered, valiantly trying to recoup some of his shredded dignity.

"Huh. One decent-sized eruption in Iceland would pretty much take care of that, now wouldn't it? But never mind, Snape, you went zero for three, which is a perfect record." The Guru crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the professor with slitted eyes.

Snape exploded. "Now see here! I refuse to be treated in this manner in my own classroom! You cannot simply barge in here, disrupting my class and casting aspersions on me, my teaching style, and my knowledge of my Art. I could not possibly care less about your muggle science or your foolish questions, as they are of no value to any decent wizard!"

The Guru merely chuckled at this. "Oh, Snape, Snape, Snape. You pitiful, miserable excuse for a short-order chef…I've known french fry boys at Mickey D's with more skills than you've shown me. Well, except for the swirly robe thing, that's pretty impressive," the Doc conceded.

"Why, you…" Snape growled, whipping out his wand and pointing it at the Guru, only to pause when the Guru merely put his fingertip on the end of the wand.

"Ah, ah, ah, Snapey…temper, temper," the Guru smirked. "I wouldn't, if I were you. Oh, I might loose a finger or two, but do you really want to loose your wand arm? Think about it."

"GET OUT OF MY DUNGEONS!" Snape cried, his face turning a rather impressive shade of puce.

"Tell you what, Snapey," the Guru said, leaning back and taking his finger off of the end of Snape's wand. "Let's give it one more try, shall we? I'll have Longbottom successfully brew a mix using a collection of caustic and dangerous agents, while you make me a simple mix of two common household items. If Neville blows it up and you do fine, I'll admit that your potions skill is far superior to my science."

Snape snorted his derision. "I see no other possible outcome, certainly. Longbottom's a menace, and I doubt that he'd even be able to brew a decent cup of tea."

The Guru wasn't finished. "But," the fat man went on, eyes twinkling. "If Neville does well…and you screw up…then you concede to the better man, which is me. Deal?"

"Of course," Snape said, nodding his acceptance. Finally, he thought, with Longbottom involved how can I loose?

"Very good. I'll need the house elves to get me some supplies, but that shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes," the Guru said, turning to the elves that had not yet gotten around to being somewhere else. "Boys, here, let me make you a list." Pulling out his usual pen and little yellow pad, he quickly jotted down several items before handing the yellow note to the foremost elf. "I need these things prepped exactly like I've written down, okay? And be careful…I don't want you hurting yourself. Off you go!" When the elves disappeared, the Guru turned back to the Professor. "While they're gone, could I get you to set up a cauldron for you to work in? Preferably a medium-sized one, if you've got it handy."

"Of course, this is a potions classroom, after all," Snape huffed. "Mr. Malfoy, please bring me a medium cauldron," he ordered, turning to the Doctor. "Will a regular pewter cauldron be acceptable, or should it be of a special material?" he asked sarcastically.

The Guru pursed his lips. "Hmm…for what you'll be doing, it shouldn't matter." When Snape nodded and waved Draco onward, the Guru went on. "Neville's project, on the other hand…well, I was very specific in asking the elves for borosilicate glass, which is one of the few things nonreactive enough to be truly safe for what I've got in mind."

Snape just looked at him, unwilling to admit to having no idea as to just what 'borosilicate' glass might be. With a shrug, he turned away to supervise Draco as the Slytherin student set up the cauldron on a side table, well away from the student's desks.

The door to the potions classroom opened, and the three house elves pushed a kitchen cart in carefully. All of the students looked at it, hoping to get some clue as to just what the Guru had planned for his little demonstration. Unfortunately for them, the elves had taken the precaution of covering the cart with a cloth, and only an outline of the cart's contents could be seen.

"Ah, and here we are!" the Doctor said happily. "Excellent work as always, boys, give yourselves a gold star!" While the house elves wiggled with pleasure at the praise, the Guru took over the cart, pushing it to the side of Snape's desk. Pulling off the cover, he revealed…a rather uninteresting collection of materials.

Ignoring the signs of disappointment from the students (and Snape's feigned disinterest), the Guru began transferring the cart's contents to the desktop, speaking as he worked.

"Well, now, let's see…here we have our first ingredient," he said, lifting up a glass container in which a somewhat cloudy pale yellow fluid gently washed back and forth. "This is a freshly prepared extract of the fruiting body of _C. limon_, a highly dangerous substance. It contains not only a complex blend of aromatic and aliphatic hydrocarbons but a number of both simple and moderately complex carbohydrates, oils, and organic acids, most notably citric and ascorbic acids. It has a pH of between 2 and 3, which as I'm sure you know makes it strongly acidic," he said, looking around at the students, who obediently nodded cluelessly, "and would be terribly painful if I were to place it on certain delicate parts of your tender young bodies. So, guard you eyes carefully…you have been warned." With exaggerated care, he set the open container down, then picked up another cup, which held a white powder. "Here we have a quantity of the pure crystalline form of a disaccharide composed of a pentose and a hexose joined by a glycoside bond. With this as a base and a few common household cleaning products, I could make an explosive compound sufficient to blow the doors off the Great Hall." Setting this cup down near the plant extract, he lifted a large pitcher filled with a clear liquid carefully. "And here…pure dihydrogen monoxide, perhaps the single most dangerous substance on the planet! This stuff is so corrosive that it is often referred to as the 'Universal Solvent', and as little as two tablespoons of this is enough to kill anyone in this room. In fact, thousands of muggles and, I'm certain, dozens of wizards are killed every year by this benign-appearing liquid." Setting it down on the desk, the Guru looked out across the class sternly. "I do hope you appreciate just what a risk Mr. Longbottom is about to take," he said coldly.

"Bloody hell! You're going to let Longbottom play with that?" Blaise Zabini burst out. "He'll kill us all!" From all around the room, the Slytherins and Gryffindors found themselves for once in complete agreement.

"You would prefer to do it, Mr. Zabini? Perhaps in partnership with Mr. Weasley?" the Guru asked, the threat threading itself through his silky tone.

"Er, no, sir…not at all," Zabini answered. Looking at Ron Weasley, who was shaking his head in terror, Blaise shuddered, then dropped his eyes.

"I didn't think so," the Guru said. Then, he looked at the young man trembling at his side. "I have complete confidence that Mr. Longbottom can follow my instructions correctly, and that there will be no danger to any of you. In fact, I intend to drink the final product myself!" The fat man smiled tightly as eyes went wide around the room at that statement.

"Sir, are you sure?" Neville asked softly.

"Mr. Longbottom, I have never been more sure about anything in my life. Just do what I tell you, and nothing can go wrong. Trust me," the Guru finished warmly. "Now, let's get to it. First thing, I want you to completely dissolve all of the white crystals in the dihydrogen monoxide. You'll need to add it gently, and stir for at least a couple of minutes."

"Yes, sir. Should I stir clockwise or counter-clockwise?" Neville asked, his voice trembling.

"Your choice, Mr. Longbottom. However, I would suggest that you keep stirring in the same direction once you begin, until the last of the crystals has dissolved." Unconcernedly, the Guru stepped to the side just enough to allow Neville to begin carrying out his instructions.

To everyone's amazement, Neville's first task went off smoothly. He was perhaps a bit slow in adding the crystals to the clear liquid, but seemed to gain confidence when there was no immediate explosion forthcoming. Before long, his careful strokes had finished the dissolving process, and he turned to the Guru expectantly.

"Very good, Neville. Now, be careful of the extract, it's quite acidic. I want you to slowly add it to the monoxide/disaccharide mix, and stir it for thirty strokes in the same direction as before."

"Yes, sir," Neville said, then picked up the cup of liquid carefully. Biting his lower lip in concentration, he gently added the second ingredient, and once again the class was surprised when the process went smoothly. Thirty strokes later, Neville withdrew the stirring rod and looked up once more.

"Nicely done, Neville. Now, we'll just let your mix sit while Professor Snape shows us how to make a simple paste of sodium acetate. Are you ready, Professor?" the Guru asked politely.

"Of course. I trust you have components for me to use?" the Potions Master sniffed.

"Certainly. I asked the elves to bring me a cup of commercial-strength sodium bicarbonate—which will be the sodium source—as well as two cups of dilute acetic acid." He paused, then sighed. "I'd prefer to have used concentrated acetic acid, but since only a true chemistry lab would have that on hand, I had to improvise. That being the case, I'm afraid you'll have to use a 2 to 1 ratio of acid to bicarbonate, rather than the more customary 1 to 1 ration I'd prefer. Still, one must make do, mustn't one?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension at the poor range of supplies available to him in this situation.

"I'm sure that I'll manage," Snape grated out, grabbing up the bicarbonate powder and tipping the entire cup into his cauldron. Then, ignoring the Guru's step back (and pulling Neville with him), Snape took the dilute acetic acid and poured a generous portion on top of the powder.

Instantly, the cauldron overflowed with whitish goo, spilling across the table and onto the floor before Snape could do anything to stop it.

"Bloody hell!" the Slytherin Head of House barked as he jumped back to avoid getting any of the sharp-smelling mess on his robes.

"Having a bit of a problem, Professor?" the Guru asked sweetly. "Can't keep it in the cauldron? Looks like you've made a bit of a mess," he offered, one hand gesturing the house elves to keep their places and not rush to clean it up.

"You knew this would happen, damn you!" Snape snarled, whirling on the Guru. "You specifically did this to humiliate me!"

The Guru shrugged. "Yep. Of course, it's not my fault that you've never been exposed to the old baking soda and vinegar volcano trick…which any muggle child over the age of eight could have told you about."

Ignoring Snape's sputtering; the Guru turned and picked up a shot glass from his earlier firewhiskey tasting. "Now, let's see just how Mr. Longbottom's mix came out. Anybody want to be the first to try it?" he asked, then chuckled when heads all around the room shook negatively. "Well, then…I suppose I'll have to be the guinea pig." With a flourish, he dipped the cup into the pale yellow liquid, pulled it out and put it to his lips, draining it all.

For a moment, he stood there, his face expressionless, his body immobile. Then, he smacked his lips and smiled. "Tastes great! Who wants lemonade?"

If the shocked faces that greeted his question surprised him, he didn't show it. Turning to the trio of house elves, he motioned them forward to begin serving the lemonade in the goblets that had also been part of his request list.

Neville was the first to recover his wits. "You…I mean, I…made lemonade?"

"Of course. What else do you get when you combine lemon juice, sugar and water?" the Guru asked innocently, his head cocked to one side.

"LEMONADE?!?! But…but…but…" Snape roared, then sputtered angrily.

"But nothing, Professor," the Guru said firmly, looking the other man directly in the eye. "Ordinary table sugar is sucrose, which is a double sugar made from a 5-carbon and a 6-carbon sugar joined together. _Citrus limon_ is the scientific name for the common lemon tree, and dihydrogen monoxide…two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom…is nothing more than water. So, water, table sugar and lemon juice—what else does that make, if not lemonade?" He made his face as blankly innocent as he possibly could as he watched Snape work out just what he had been told.

"So…you tricked us all!" Snape spat. "And then, you have me to mix this…this…" he waved at the still-foaming cauldron.

"I had you mix two common items that I knew would make a glorious mess despite anything that you could do to prevent it, yes. Now, how did it feel?" the Guru asked, still maintaining eye contact.

Snape turned away in disgust as the Guru turned back to the class. "So, how's the lemonade?" he asked, pleased to see that everyone seemed to be enjoying it. "Now, let's talk about what I just did, and why I did it. Any thoughts? Yes, Miss Granger, go ahead," he said, indicating the muggle-born witch.

"You used scientific terms that Professor Snape wouldn't recognize, didn't you?" she asked carefully. Obviously, she still remembered what had happened to her earlier in the Great Hall.

The Doctor nodded. "Correct. Five points to Gryffindor. Who else has a comment?"

"You did it to humiliate Snape," Ron Weasley said, then flinched as the Professor whirled to glare at him.

"Also correct, Mr. Weasley; although for your sake, I'd probably keep on referring to him as 'Professor', if I were you."

"What you did wasn't fair!" Pansy Parkinson snapped. "Professor Snape can't be expected to know your muggle garbage."

"Maybe you're right, Miss Parkinson, and maybe you're not. Still, I had a very good reason for doing what I did…care to speculate what that reason was?"

"You wanted to humiliate Professor Snape in front of all of us…and make Longbottom look good at the same time," Pansy spat back.

The Guru nodded. "Correct as far as that goes, so 2 points to Slytherin. Anyone else?" he asked, scanning the room. When no one else dared to speak up, he frowned. "Nobody wants to venture a guess about why I went to all of this trouble? None of you Slytherins has figured it out yet?"

Draco raised his hand, and waited for the Guru's nod before he asked carefully. "Could you tell us how you knew the answers to the questions Professor Snape was going to ask you? Was it Legilimency?"

"Yes, you may ask, and no, it wasn't Legilimency. Actually, I was taking a chance with that, but I did manage to stack the deck in my favor." At the confused looks that his answer caused, he sighed. "I knew that Snape had tormented Harry as a first year with those three particular questions, and I also knew that I could answer them easily. So, when I challenged him, I made sure to plant a little mental seed about 'firsties' and 'Harry Potter' in his mind, and let Snape's subconscious mind do the rest. Just a bit of psychology, no wand-waving or hocus-pocus involved."

"So, you set him up," Harry made it a statement as much as a question.

"Absolutely. I figured that he'd make the connection between successfully tormenting you, Harry, and the chance to do the same to me. Imagine how he would have crowed had he actually been able to stump me with the same questions he used to humiliate you." The Guru turned to Snape, who was finishing with the cleanup of the mess he had made. "Wouldn't you have, Severus? You would have rubbed it into my face here, and again at least once in front of the entire school, if you could, wouldn't you?"

"I refuse to dignify these proceedings by answering you," Snape sniffed. "I find this so-called 'lesson' to be nothing more than an excuse for your own self-gratification through my embarassment."

"And there's the rub. Professor Pot, that makes me Doctor Kettle. Snape, do you really think that everyone at this school doesn't think that you do exactly that kind of thing on a daily basis? I just decided to give you a small taste of your own medicine…now how did _you_ like it?"

Snape didn't answer, but he also refused to meet the Doctor's eyes. Harry, on the other hand, suddenly sat up in his seat and raised his hand.

"So, Doc…you wanted Snape to feel…like he makes us feel?" the Boy-Who-Lived asked.

"Very good, Mr. Potter, 10 points to Gryffindor. That's it exactly. Yes, Draco," he nodded to the blond Slytherin.

"And all of this was just to torment Professor Snape, then?" Draco asked, his voice neutral.

"Actually, no." The Guru became very serious as he hopped up to sit on Snape's desk. "There's a very important lesson here, if you'll let yourselves learn it. What I really wanted to demonstrate here today is that it doesn't take much to make even very smart people—like Professor Snape—look less smart and well educated than they are. All you have to do is catch them outside of their field, or area of expertise, and even the best of us can be brought down." He shrugged, and went on. "You'll find that there are people out there who will always delight in making your life difficult, and one of their favorite tactics is to pull you into their area and then put you down for not knowing their stuff as well as they do. It's childish and stupid, but it's also part of life as we know it. Often, the best that you can do is just to try to avoid these people, because they'll probably never, ever change." He paused and accepted another cup of lemonade from one of the house elves. "I have no doubt that most of you could write up a test on your favorite subject—like, Quiddich, maybe, or your favorite subject—that I couldn't pass in a million years. That doesn't mean that I'm stupid, or that you're especially gifted in that area, it only means that you know things that I don't. It doesn't make you superior, or better than me…it just makes you look like a complete and total wanker, ultimately." Looking around the class, he noticed a few eyes widening in understanding, a few more narrowing as they absorbed what he had said, and a few with frankly blank looks of complete and total incomprehension. Oh well, he thought, lead a horse to water and from there it's up to them. "Professor Snape, care to try some of Longbottom's really excellent lemonade?" he asked cheerfully, making an overture to the Professor.

Snape still looked at the Guru as if he was debating which Unforgivable to cast first, but he did accept a cup from a house elf. Sipping it, he nodded minutely. "Well, I see that in this case, Longbottom's performance was adequate. This time," he finished sourly.

And at that, the Guru winked once more at Neville Longbottom, which brought a tiny smile to the Gryffindor's lips.

It really was excellent lemonade.

**A/N:** Yes, I know Snape's not the Potions Master in Year 6. Yes, I know that Neville wouldn't be in the post-OWLS class with Snape for all the tea in China. Did I mention that this is a crack!fic, and an AU one at that? I'm sure I must have at some point along the way….

Yes, this really is an old family recipe for cough syrup, and it works well. The scientific terms are as scrupulously correct as I could make them. The Guru actually fudged a bit, but not much. The Lorentz transformations are college-level material, but Taq 1 and the Moho are both high school science-level material. Of course, the physical biochemistry and treatment of aconite ingestion came sometime later. Note that the Guru worked hard to 'talk up' Neville's ingredients while downplaying Snape's as inconsequential and innocuous—another bit of psychological misdirection and obfuscation. And, if you've never done it, mixing vinegar and baking soda is REALLY impressive, in a foaming, messy way.

So why did the Guru do all this? Because (a) Snape really deserves it and (b) who better than the Guru to feed him this bitter pill?

**Next Chapter:** assuming I get reviews for this piece of fluff, the next chapter involves the Room of Requirement, an announcement to the student body, and the problem of horcruxes.


End file.
